


Enemy of my Enemy

by Jay_Bird23



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Fluff, Original Trans Character - Freeform, eventual mentions of ptsd, post season 1 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23028808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_Bird23/pseuds/Jay_Bird23
Summary: Post season 1 AU.Frank Castle has a bounty on his head. Typical, right? Nothing he hasn't handled before. All he'd have to do is find the person who put the hit on him and kill them and it'll all be over.The problem comes when the person who allegedly put the hit on him doesn't have a clue what he's talking about. If they didn't put the hit out, who did?
Kudos: 2





	1. The Rumor

**Author's Note:**

> Ayo! For some reason, my Punisher hyperfixation kicked up and I had to write something. This is what I've come up with! Hope you like it!

The final dregs of bitter coffee slide down Frank’s throat and he smiles at the waitress as she appears beside his table with the pot. “Aw, Renee, it’s like you can read my mind.” “You’ve been here long enough, Pete,” Renee says, refilling the empty mug in Frank’s hand. “You go through at least three cups of coffee with your food before you leave.”

“Color me predictable. Thank you, Renee.” 

Renee hums her reply and offers a polite wink before moving away back to the counter. Back to his tail, who also orders a refresher coffee when Renee asks if he needs anything. Frank knew he was being followed for about three blocks, but he didn’t expect the tail to let him linger for so long. Usually people get antsy by now. This guy looks too antsy for his own good and the coffee probably isn’t helping anything. Not that Frank cares what happens to this guy. Antsy makes sloppy makes easier to kill, simple as that. But Frank doesn’t know if he has the patience for anything right now, especially not this guy. 

Frank drains his mug quickly, ignoring the warm burn in his throat and the heat pooling in his stomach, and signals for the check. As predicted, the tail does too. He barely glances at the numbers on the check before dropping a few fives on the table and sliding from his booth, not sparing a glance to see if his tail is doing the same. He already hears the frantic movements before the diner door closes and the sound of the door itself being slammed against the wall as the tail hastes to catch up.

Sloppy. 

Frank veers left into an alley and braces, listening for the tale-tell footsteps that come seconds after he ventures into the dark. The tail runs behind him and the barrel of a gun is pressed into the back of Frank’s skull, causing Frank to pause and lift his hands in surrender. 

“You ain’t armed, are ya?” 

Young. Scared. Shaky. All signs that this kid knows he’s in way over his head with whatever he’s trying.

“Turn around and answer me, asshole!”

A tired sigh pushes through Frank’s nose and he does as told, keeping his hands in view as he slowly turns and faces the kid. Frank has a good head on the kid and easily outweighs him by at least sixty pounds. The fear is clear in his eyes, intensifying at the steady annoyance in Frank’s.

“D-did you hear me?” the kid asks. “I said-”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time,” Frank interrupts lazily. “What are you doing kid?”

The kid shakes his head and presses the gun harder into Frank’s forehead. “I’m the one asking questions here, yeah?” he declares. “So answer me.” 

In a second, the gun is out of the kid’s hand, knocked aside and out of grip by Frank’s rough slap. The kid cries out as his gun clatters away and he drops to his knees before Frank does anything remotely close to threatening him. 

“I’m sorry!” the kid cries. “Please don’t kill me! I just needed the money!”

Frank rolls his eyes. Kids these days. No spine. 

“Get up.” 

The kid flinches at the order and curls tighter on himself. Frank shakes his head and bends at the waist, hauling the kid to his feet by his biceps and jostling him roughly. “Hey,” he barks. “Hey. Look at me.” 

Tear slick eyes peel open and the kid locks onto his steady gaze. “Please don’t kill me.” 

A stab of sympathy hits Frank in the gut and he huffs through his nose again, holding the gaze for a moment before releasing his hold on the kid. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he promises. 

“Really?”

Frank nods and glances beyond the kid to the empty alley over his shoulder. “Yeah. Just don’t let me catch you running around waving guns at people again unless you’re ready to pull the trigger, understand.”

The kid nods so hard Frank’s sure his neck is going to snap. “I won’t,” the kid swears. “I won’t!”

“Good. Now, what money are you talking about?”

The kid swipes his eyes quickly and sniffs violently. “Uh, there’s a bounty on your head.”

Great. “Do you know who put it there?”

“Uuuhhh. . . .I heard it from some guy on the internet. Fuckin. . .What’s his name. . .”

Frank rolls his eyes again. “How long has it been up?”

“Not long,” the kid says with a quick shake of the head. “In fact, I think that since I said I’d take a shot at it, it’ll get taken down. It was a limited time offer, ya see. Exclusive.”

Frank nods. “So what happens when you say you failed, hm?” 

The kid ponders the thought for a moment before shrugging. “It’ll get put back up, I guess,” he says. “Are you gonna kill the person who put it up in the first place?” 

“If I can figure out his name, maybe.”

The kid nods again and hums in deep thought. “Ah!” he declares with a loud snap of the fingers. “It was something along the lines of Reaper. . .something.”

An eyebrow quirks on Frank’s face and he frowns. “As in the Grim Reaper?”

“Yeah! I heard a rumor on the street that he’s some badass mercenary or something.”

“How do you know so much about what’s going on in the streets, hm? Doesn’t seem like you have the balls for it.” 

All the excitement on the kid’s face falls to disappointment. “I’m almost POSITIVE that anyone who goes toe to toe with the Punisher is going to be scared, man.” 

Frank laughs and shakes his head. “Alright kid, get lost.” 

“Can I have my gun back?” the kid asks, pointing to where the gun fell beside the dumpster. “It’s my grandma’s.” 

“No.”

“Fair enough, have a good night.” 

The kid scampers away with no protest and Frank sighs heavily. Kids. 

At least he has a name. Now all he needs is a face to put with it. He tugs his hood over his head before turning and retracing his steps back out the alley, making sure he doesn’t have any more tails before melting into the New York rush hour foot traffic. 

\-------

Turk swears loudly when he spots Frank out the corner of his eye, throwing his hands up in annoyance and whirling around to face him. “Didn’t I tell you I never wanted to see you again, man? You’re bad for my health.”

Frank nods in agreement and leans against the pillar he was previously hidden behind. It didn’t take him long to find Turk at his girlfriend’s apartment and less time to find his car in the underground parking lot. The longest part was waiting for Turk to come back out and leave.

“I need information only you would know,” he offers. “Last time, I promise.”

“Man, your promises don’t mean shit,” Turk counters with a violent wave of dismissal. “What do you want?”

“I need information on a guy calling himself Reaper.”

“And why would you need that?” Frank opens his mouth but Turk changes his mind with a shout and moves his hands to cover his ears. “On second thought, I don’t care.” Frank closes his mouth and Turk lowers his hands, turning his mind over and over before sighing in defeat and unlocking his car with the fob. “Find me in three days,” he instructs. “I’ll have at least a nibble for you.”

“A nibble?” Frank snaps. “What do you mean a nibble?”

“I mean, this guy is practically a ghost,” Turk defends, turning back to Frank and glaring tiredly. “Some people say the name Reaper gets thrown around to kills with no leads just because. Some people think it’s more than one person under the same alias. Some people don’t even think Reaper is a real thing at all. If this guy is real and one guy, then it’s gonna take some work to find something on him. Three days is probably cutting it close with all the shit I hear about Reaper, but I want you off my ass as soon as possible.” 

Frank looks away and contemplates his options, not that he has many. There aren’t many people street level he can talk to without scaring off and even less that he hasn’t killed. Red might know something, but Frank doubts that conversation will blow over well. So he relents and nods his head. “Fine,” he says. “You have three days.” 

Turk shrugs and turns back to his car. “Fine by me.” 

\-------

A green-haired figure fires a single bullet from their gun and the man across the table falls dead, a deep crimson flower blooming under his shirt and spreading its bloody petals across the carpet he landed on. The figure pushes the desk chair away from its spot behind said desk and the figure rises, gliding soundlessly around the desk before firing two more bullets into the man’s back and head. Once the job is done, the figure lowers its shaky arm back to their side and sighs heavily. Another stain to add to their ledger. Another bill paid. 

The figure straightens their back and guides their thoughts away from their sins, reholstering the gun to their side and stepping around the body to the window they entered from. They’ll make sure to get paid, but right now, all they want is a drink, an omelet, and a nap. They’ll decide what comes first on the way home.


	2. The Reaper

* Seven hours ago *

“So get this,” Turk started when Frank answered the phone. “I got the sliver of a trace of a lead. It ain’t much, that’s for sure, but it seemed like something that’ll get you to bite.”

“What is it, Turk?”

“So I heard from a buddy of mine that some kid keeps showing up to this bar on the south side of town.”

“What’s that got to do with me, Turk?”

“This kid always has some sort of injury or wound that looks completely out of character on a kid in their twenties unless they’re in some sort of war or fight club.”

Frank leans into the steering wheel. “Are you saying you think they’re being beat?”

“Not at all,” Turk clarifies. “I’m saying, I think that’s your guy.”

“How so?”

“After every hit rumored to be done by the Reaper, this kid turns up with some sort of bloody injury. I think my buddy is the only one who’s made the connection since the kid doesn’t talk to anyone. Plus they look way too old behind the eyes to be innocent. It could be a coincidence, but I figured I’d pass it along.”

* Now *

Frank really didn’t want to go after a kid, but a lead is a lead and maybe they’ll have something for him. So far, he’s seen a kid matching the description Turk gave him enter the bar and he (Frank’s guessing it’s a he given the distance and the clothes he saw them in) hasn’t come out yet. Only two hours have passed, but Frank’s starting to get impatient. He wants to get this over with and clear this kid from any bullshit he may drag him into before it gets too wild. 

At around midnight, the kid half stumbles out of the bar and onto the sidewalk, his bright green hair catching the street light and confirming his identity for Frank. Frank almost wants to help the kid instead of interrogate him. He looks too small and too drunk to defend himself should anyone decide to start something. Now that he’s under the street light, Frank even starts to doubt if the kid’s actually a boy. He looks too soft. Nevertheless, Frank swings open his door and slides out of his car. 

Note number one: the kid looks over too fast to be drunk. 

Note number two: Drunk people can’t remain still for that long, not unless they’re supported. 

“Hey,” Frank calls, slamming the door closed and starting across the street.

The kid sways violently and lifts a hand in greeting. “Hey! Was going on, man!?” 

“You know the Reaper?”

Note number three: rapid shift in emotion. Now something skeptical and hostile shines in his eyes. 

“Like. . . The Grim--”

Frank makes it to the next street light and the kid’s sentence cuts mid-way when he spots the skull on his vest. Gone is the drunk act and they straighten rapidly. Frank shakes his head. “I just wanna talk.” 

The kid doesn’t say anything, only turning and racing down the sidewalk. Franks swears under his breath and takes off after him, leaving his gun holstered to free his hands for the coming fight. He really doesn’t want to fight this kid, but they don’t seem to leave him a choice. 

“Hey!” Frank barks, whirling around the corner seconds after the kid does. “Stop!” 

A stupid request, yes, but it’s worth a shot. All the kid is doing is running, nothing fancy. If he really is innocent, there’s no use in trying to drag anything out when they both just want to move on with their lives. 

“Kid, stop!” 

The kid ducks into an alley and Frank is close behind. . .

Which barely leaves him time to duck under the pole swung at his head. 

He grunts with the effort and whirls just in time to grab the pole on the back swing. “I’m not trying to fight you,” he growls, yanking the pole off the attacker and tossing it aside. “But I’m also not afraid to kick your ass if you make me, kid.”

The kid releases a short bark of bitter laughter as they retreat a few steps. “That’s good,” he says, “cause I don’t necessarily want to have my ass kicked tonight.” 

Frank raises an eyebrow at the pitch of the kid’s voice but doesn’t comment on it. Instead he snorts his own amusement and lowers his fighting stance slightly. Of course, he’s still ready to move if the kid starts to fight again, but he opens himself more and lowers his forming fists. “Then just talk to me kid,” he offers. “I don’t wanna think you have anything to do with what’s going on, but you running like that makes me think otherwise. Let’s just talk.”

The kid narrows his eyes hesitantly and takes a few more steps back. Frank tenses to run if the kid does, but the kid only leans against the nearby wall and folds his arms over his chest. “In my defense,” he starts, his tone light despite the tension in his shoulders and arms. “I think that anyone would run away if they saw the Punisher coming for them. You do have a reputation for not talking much.”

Frank surprises himself by breathing out a few laughs and shakes his head. “Not everyone deserves a conversation,” he replies. “You aren’t the usual type I visit, so I figured a conversation is the best approach.”

“Why do you wanna talk anyway? I doubt you can pin anything on me and I don’t believe you’re even sure I’m the person you’re looking for. Soooo. . . What’s up?”

The confidence in the statements causes Frank squint and tilt his head in thought. “Ya see, there lies the issue,” he says. “I never said what I wanted to talk about, but you automatically assume I want to talk about crimes.” He takes a few steps forward and the kid tenses but doesn’t move from his spot. “That tells me you know more than you think I know you know.” 

“You were talking about Reaper,” the kid counters with a shrug. “That’s a legend in the underground, no?”   


“That’s another issue, kid. The first time you heard Reaper, you thought I meant the Grim Reaper. I never said anything about the underground.”

Despite the corner the kid put himself in, his lips tilt into a smug smile and he unfolds an arm to gesture vaguely into the distance. “Say I have connections,” he starts. “What’s the harm in knowing what goes on in the background. Life’s safer that way, no?”

There are many holes Frank can punch in that argument, but he settles on an annoyed huff and runs his hand over his head. “Cut the shit, kid,” he barks. “I’m tired and I don’t want beef with you. Just tell me what I want to know and we can part ways as strangers.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Why’d the Reaper put a hit on me?”

This provides the first crack in the cool demeanor in the kid’s facade of calm, his eyes widening and his guard dropping at the shock of the statement. “What?”

Frank hums an affirmative and nods. “Some kid tried to kill me the other day saying Reaper offered a pretty hefty sum for my death. Word on the street is you’re pretty close with this guy, so I wanna hear why he did it.” 

There’s no recovering the calm and the kid shakes his head. “I’m not stupid enough to put a hit on the Punisher,” he says quickly. “If I wanted you dead, I’d probably kill you myself to make sure it gets done properly the first time. Plus I wouldn’t want it to bounce back on me since you also have a reputation for taking out the people trying to take you out.”

There it is. 

Frank raises an eyebrow and takes another half step forward. “So you are Reaper?”

The kid scrambles back a few yards and holds a hand up in front of himself in defense, forcing himself to look calm and collected despite the situation he found himself in. “Ok, fine, yes,” he says carefully. “But I didn’t put a hit on you, I swear.”

“Why should I believe you? Everyone says shit when they’re scared.”

“That’s true, yes. However, I don’t put hits out, I just take them. I’m a mercenary, see. A hitman more often than not. I take jobs. I don’t have the funds to put a hit out on my own.” 

The layers of hesitancy and fear in his voice causes Frank to consider the possibility of the Reaper telling the truth, but he knows how people can be good actors. He knows full well how seemingly innocent people can turn out to be some of the most dangerous motherfuckers on the planet. Frank’s reluctant to believe it for that reason. Yes, the Reaper is small and soft looking and possibly drunk. That doesn’t mean he isn’t lying to save his ass. 

“Then who did?” Frank snaps. “You’re the only Reaper I’ve heard of-”

“I know, I know, I know,” Reaper stammers, “but Reaper IS only a nickname. Anyone can use the title to get their way. Hell, I was in a bar when some guy said he personally knew the Reaper and would have him kill everyone he ever loved or some shit. Names have power, ya know. . . Punisher?”

It takes all Frank has not to roll his eyes. 

“Anyway, this is the first time I’ve heard about the hit, I swear,” Reaper continues. “I don’t know who would have put the hit on you or who used my name to do it, but I’m guessing we must have some mutual enemies somewhere down the line. Lemme do some digging and I’ll get back to you-”

Frank shakes his head and grumbles his disapproval. “That’s not gonna happen,” he says. “You can’t honestly expect me to believe you’re just gonna jet off for a bit then call me with some bullshit story about some lead you picked up? Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No. But-”

“Fuck off with your buts,” Frank interrupts. “This is how it’s gonna work. Until I can guarantee you’re clean myself, we’re staying together.”

A cycle of emotions rolls across the Reaper’s face. Shock. Confusion. Anger. Fight or flight. Consideration. Then finally, resolve. “I can’t accept those terms,” he declares finally, straightening his back and steeling his gaze for the inevitable. “I’ve got shit to do and people to contact. People who DON’T like outside contact. Plus, you can’t just bully me into doing what you want. At this point, you’re gonna have to kill me or trust me for the time being. Make your choice.” 

White rage boils in Frank’s core and he storms across the alley, grabbing the kid’s shirt with both hands and hauling him to his toes. The resolves cracks behind the kid’s eyes, but he manages to hold Frank’s gaze and nearly match his intensity.

“You think this is a game, kid?” Frank growls. “You think I won’t kill you just to make sure I don’t have someone else gunning for me? You already told me you’re a merc. I take out mercs all the time. What’s one more to add under the belt, huh? What’s another dead killer? You think I won’t?” 

The Reaper looks startled for a moment at the statement, then sighs through his nose and relaxes fully. “You do what you gotta do, man.”

And like that, the rage fizzles out. Well, not entirely, but he feels his resolve shake. After a moment, he growls in annoyance and shoves the kid away. Reaper stumbles back and ends up falling on his butt. Frank almost feels bad about it, but he also feels annoyed and that overpowers everything. He should just kill the kid and move on to see if anything changes. That’s what he would do on a normal basis. Problem is, Frank doesn’t feel like the kid has any issue with him, nor does he feel like he put the hit out. All and all, he’d be killing an innocent. 

Well, not an innocent, but someone who isn’t involved with him. He doesn’t need that on his conscience. 

“What’s your name, kid?” 

The kid furrows his eyebrow and rubs his hip absentmindedly. “Pardon me?”

“Your name,” Frank repeats harshly. “What’s your name?”

The confusion turns to annoyance and the kid pushes back up to his feet. “Like hell I’m telling you that,” he bites back. “What am I, an idiot?”

Frank shrugs. 

“Oh, fuck off.” 

Frank shrugs again and offers a lazy smirk. “You’re the one who dared me to kill him earlier. That’s pretty stupid to me.”

The kid grumbles a sour response under his breath before schooling himself and shaking his head again. “Reaper’s fine,” he decides. “This won’t take long enough for us to get attached. My name isn’t important.” 

Frank decides that he could push the issue since Reaper probably knew his name. Ultimately, though, he decides Reaper is right and frowns. “Fine,” he accepts. “How do I contact you?” 

Reaper smiles and slides a hand in his pocket, holding his other hand up when Frank reaches for the gun on his hip. “Business card,” he says, withdrawing his hand and flashing a deep blue card in his direction. “Good business practices, ya know?”

The nervous, shit-eating grin the kid flashes, along with the showman like manner Reaper waves the business card around causes part of Frank’s annoyance to dissipate. Nothing registers on his face, though, and he steps forward to snatch the card from Reaper. The force he uses causes Reaper to flinch and he takes a half step back on reflex. 

“What kind of mercenary carries around business cards?” Frank grumbles as he reads over the information. “What happens if you were to get stopped by a cop, huh? What would you tell them?”

Reaper flashes another bright grin and folds his arms over his chest again. “Ya see, the key is to not look sketchy,” he jibes. “That way people don’t look at you. Must be hard for you, huh?”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m not hearing a denial.” Frank shoots the kid a glare and Reaper’s hands go up in surrender. “Look, send me a text or something so I’ll have your number and I’ll call you if something happens, alright?”

Frank wants to argue, but he doubts it’s going to get him anywhere. The kid seems nervous and it seems like he likes to play games when he is. If this keeps up too much longer, he may end up killing Reaper. 

“Fine. But don’t take too long.”

“I can update you hourly if you’d like? How about every thirty minutes? Hm?” The anger simmers again and it must show in his eyes cause Reaper smiles hesitantly and holds his hands up again. “Look, let’s say I’ll text you if I find anything interesting, alright? And not bullshit interesting. Like, something with actual substance. I’ll talk to my connections and you talk to yours. If you don’t hear from me in a few days--”

“I’ll make sure I do.”

“--then you call me and we’ll set up a meeting and we can exchange notes. How’s that sound?”

“Fine,” he says. “But if you give me the runaround kid, I swear, I’ll find you again and I’ll kill you myself.”

A muscle twitches in the kid’s jaw and he forces a smile. “Sounds good to me,” he agrees with a mock salute. “Text me when you want.” He slides his hands back in his pockets and moves to walk past Frank back onto the street out the alley, keeping his eyes on the ground in front of him and keeping a casual pace. “I’ll be seeing you.”

Frank ponders the idea of grabbing Reaper’s arm just to establish dominance or to freak the kid out and enforce the threat of death for betrayal. However, he doesn’t. He knows Reaper is scared enough despite his smile and he knows any threats he makes would thin the kid’s fraying confidence and probably make him flee. Not that Frank couldn’t find him and kill him anyway, he just doesn’t want to have to kill a kid, mercenary or not. 

If he even is a mercenary. This kid looks too young and far less capable than any other mercenary he’s come across in his life. All of them seemed confident and held themselves with a certain level of a threatening aura about them. Reaper seems like. . .a kid. Nervous and attempting to make it through life on bluffs and shit alone. Frank can tell he’s not even armed, a rookie mistake for someone in this industry. 

So no, Frank doesn’t threaten the kid.

“Be seeing you,” he says instead. “Soon.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Be sure to leave a kudos or a comment if you like the story. Next chapter will probably be out in a couple days since I heard you're supposed to post twice a week the first time to generate interest. Maybe? Ah well. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope to see you again!


End file.
